Blue Smoke

Tried to put it out herself, burned her hands, panicked, ran out and called nine-one-one from the neighbor’s.”
    “Uh-huh.” Reena walked across the sooty floor to study the burn pattern on the backsplash, the under cabinets. “Nine-one-one came in at about four-thirty?”
    “Four thirty-six.”
    “Early to be cooking.” She looked at the counter, the nasty trail the grease fire had left on the surface. “So, what? She says she grabbed the pan, and ended up spilling the grease along her counter, dropped it.” She bent closer to the skillet, and the smell of grease-soaked chicken.
    “Something like that. She was pretty incoherent. Paramedics were treating her hands. Got her some second-degree burns.”
    “Guess she was too panicked to think of grabbing this.” O’Donnell tapped the home fire extinguisher hooked on the inside wall of a broom closet.
    “Lot of flame to reach those curtains,” Reena commented. “Chicken’s cooking away here.” She stood by the stove. “That’s some smart fire that leaps out of a pan and engages the curtains over a foot away. Must be a really sloppy cook.” She gestured to the surface of the stove. “You’ve got grease running back across here, taking a turn, hitting the wall. Like it had eyes. Then gosh, oh my goodness, look at what I did! Grab the pan, haul it another foot in the opposite direction, trailing more grease before you drop it and run away.”
    O’Donnell smiled at her. “People do the craziest things.”
    “Yeah, they sure do. Crappy cabinets,” she commented. “Countertop’s faded, scratched up. Appliances are low-end, old. Vinyl floor’s seen better days, even before our incident.”
    She glanced over. “Phone right there on the wall. Portable job. Where’s the bathroom she used?”

    “She said she used the one off the living room,” Steve told her.
    They walked out, wending their way. “Nice furniture in here,” Reena observed. “On the new side. Everything’s color-schemed and clean and tidy. Another portable phone right there, on that little table.”
    She stepped to the powder room door. “Coordinating guest towels, fancy little soaps, smells lemon fresh and looks like a magazine. I bet that kitchen was an eyesore.”
    “Pebble in her shoe,” O’Donnell added.
    Reena lifted the top of the toilet, saw the blue water. “Woman keeps a house this clean, this fresh and decorated, she doesn’t let her stove get greasy. We on the same page here, Steve?”
    “Oh, yeah.”
    “Guess we’d better have a talk with her.”
    T hey sat in the pretty living room with Sarah Greene’s bandaged hands in her lap. Her face was swollen from crying. She was twenty-eight, with glossy brown hair pulled back in a long tail. Her husband, Sam, sat beside her.
    “I don’t understand why we’re talking to the police,” he began. “We’ve talked to the fire department. Sarah’s had a rough time. She really ought to be getting some rest.”
    “We just need to ask a few questions, clear up a few things. We work with the fire department. How are your hands, Mrs. Greene?” Reena asked.
    “They said they’re not too bad. They gave me something for the pain.”
    “When I think of what could’ve happened.” Sam rubbed her shoulder.
    “I’m sorry.” Her eyes went wet and shiny. “I feel so stupid.”
    “Fire’s a scary thing. You work for Barnes and Noble, Mrs. Greene?”
    “Yes.” She tried to smile at O’Donnell. “I’m a manager there. This is my day off. I thought I’d surprise Sam with a home-cooked meal.” Her smile twisted. “Surprise.”
    “Honey, don’t.”
    “Got started on it early,” Reena commented.
    “I guess. Impulse, really.”

    No, not really, Reena thought. Since the package the chicken had come in, the one she’d dug out of the kitchen trash along with the market receipt for it, indicated it had been bought the Saturday before.
    Which meant it would have been frozen for a few days, and would have taken some time to defrost. “You have a lovely house.”
    “Thanks. We’ve been working on it since we bought it two years ago.”
    “I just bought a row house recently. It’s screaming to be updated, fixed up. Takes a lot of time, effort, not to mention the expense.”
    “Tell me about it.” Sam rolled his eyes. “Deal with one thing, you’ve got six others. Like dominoes.”
    “I hear you. I’m starting to look at paint chips. And when I do, I realize once I do that, I’m going to have to replace